


Even If It Kills You

by millstonetooth



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Banter, M/M, psycho mantis has feelings and he hates it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 23:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18398642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millstonetooth/pseuds/millstonetooth
Summary: Psycho Mantis, regretfully, has a soft spot for one special blonde bastard.





	Even If It Kills You

**Author's Note:**

> There WILL be a second half to this, I just don't know what about yet. Largely this was an excuse to write my 2 favorite MGS characters. 
> 
> I like to think Liquid Snake calls Mantis "Manny." It's cuter and I prefer that over whatever else Mantis has been called.

Psycho Mantis could be rich, if he wanted to.

 

He wasn’t. For all sorts of reasons, he’d attempted to cajole himself--different accounts he’d have to go through the trouble of setting up to receive wired money, houses to upkeep when away, things he didn’t need. But truthfully? He just didn’t know what to do with all of it.

 

Liquid Snake--Eli, in the privacy of Mantis’s thoughts--grappled with the opposite. He burned through cash like it was fire kindling. Whether it be bouncing from motel to motel, consistently eating out, styling his hair, or gathering weapons, he paid in cash he didn’t have for long and rode that until the next paycheck took him elsewhere. “Settling down,” whatever the hell that meant, wasn’t an option. Eli never stayed in one place, or country, for too long.

 

This time, it was a joint mission. Somewhere in southern California, far enough inland that they avoided the chaos of beach goers and city, but still in range of their target. It was hot out, but a breeze traveled through it, and Eli worked under the open window in a sunspot, unfazed. He always liked warmer weather, and tanned well in it. Mantis, however, was sequestered as far into his corner of shade as possible--something about his Slavic roots made him prone to frying if without proper sunscreen for too long--a magazine open in his lap but unread. He didn’t give a shit about the tabloids, but picked it up because he knew Eli liked to read them, and wanted something to do with his hands. Instead, he watched Eli’s hunched, broad shoulders as he picked apart a sniper rifle. His hands were deft; thickly calloused and rough to touch, but they quickly dismantled the gun with a high degree of carefulness and ease.

 

_ Pretty _ .

 

The thought was swiftly cut from the root before it could even dwindle, pushed back far and deep and very promptly ignored. Mantis didn’t find things pretty. Nothing was pretty to him. Eli was admirable but he was not  _ pretty _ .

 

“Something wrong?” Eli asked, not looking up from the metal in his hands. A furrow deepened his brow, and he muttered wordlessly to himself as he worked. Mantis said nothing for a moment, drawing the silence out, until Eli looked up quizzically.

 

“No,” Mantis said, maintaining eye contact even behind the mask, and pointedly flipped a page of the magazine. He snapped the magazine straight and lifted it, breaking the stare to pretend to read. Eli snorted, shaking his head.

 

“You were the one staring,”

 

“Why do you read this trash?” Mantis asked instead, having skimmed one sentence out of desperation and deeply regretting it. The triviality of celebrity drama disgusted him. 

 

“I like the pretty pictures.” The sound of metal clunking into place, then the cock of a bolt, snagged Mantis’s gaze. Eli grinned, backed by a rim of effused light, and set the rifle aside.

 

Mantis rolled his eyes. “Cute. Don’t make me give you a reading assignment,”

 

Eli waved it off, pulled forward the case of his bullets to inspect. “They’re cheap and it’s something,” Eli shrugged. “Not everyone can afford to buy leatherbound copies of Dostoyevsky,” 

 

“You could if you budgeted wisely. Or at all.” Another punctuated flick of a glossy page. Eli snorted, running his fingers through the case of shells and carefully plunking out groups of six to stow in assorted cartridges he had at his other side.

 

“Difficult these days,” Eli said. “Work is infrequent and pays shit. Not much bang for my buck, you could say.”

 

A thought, not too uncommon of one for Mantis, but definitely paradoxical to his obstinate “love is a plague and affection bodes misery” ideals-- “I have the opposite problem, truthfully,” he hedged. Putting it into words felt impossible, especially with a chronic idiot like Eli. (Yes, he was a super spy who spoke multiple languages and knew the most efficient way to kill a man without being heard, but he could be so  _ stupid _ sometimes.)

 

“Thank you for pointing that out, I love to be reminded how rich and affluent you are,” Eli groused.

 

_ I wasn’t finished. Shut up. _ Mantis’s voice echoed in Eli’s head, and the other huffed but quieted. “What I mean is that it’s a hinderance more than anything.”  _ Oh, woe is you. _ “I will gore you. Don’t test me. What I’m saying is-- I am trying to be nice,”

 

“By pointing you have so much money it’s annoying? Yes, very kind of you,”

 

“You’re not making this easy for me,” Mantis said through gritted teeth, and Eli paused. Gears turning loudly enough for Mantis to hear whether he wanted to or not.

 

“You want to share the wealth,”

 

“Yes,”

 

“Donate to charity then,”

 

Jesus fucking Christ. “No, you idiot.”  _ You take it. _

 

Eli narrowed his eyes. “What’s the catch?”

 

The few, rare instances Mantis wanted to shed some good will on another, to help instead of destroy, and this is how it backfired. “None, you impenetrable dunce, I am trying to be  _ nice _ ,” Mantis said, tossing the magazine aside in frustration. Eli stared, silent, and the two sat in a tense, uncomfortable quiet, before Eli’s brain caught up and it clicked.

 

“So like a sugar daddy,”

 

“Absolutely  _ not _ ,”

 

“Mm, but it is. You’re giving me money, and I do what? Look pretty? Sounds like the typical sugar baby arrangement if you ask me--”

 

“Remind me to never be nice again. I will live my life cruel and callous. You push me to violence,”

 

“Oh come on, you love me,”

 

“No, I do not--” Suddenly, it snapped. Mantis telepathically flung the magazine across the room and square into Eli’s raised forearm. “I will kill you. It will be painful and slow and you will beg for a mercy you will never receive for stringing me along like a fool,”

 

Eli cackled, head tossed back and golden hair shining in the sunspot. “Relax, Manny. Nobody goades you out of fear you might kill them, you deserve some teasing every once in a while.” Eli said, ignoring the various creative threats of violence Mantis televised in his head, and continued to arranged his magazine clips. “You can’t live a life un-shitted on. It’s just improper,”

 

“I take it back, I won’t give you a cent,”

 

“Oh no, you have to keep all your exorbitant piles and piles of money. You poor thing,” Eli croned, clearly enjoying himself.

 

“If I just give it to you, will you shut up?”

 

“No,” Eli answered, then paused. “Actually, yes. For 12 thousand euros,”

 

Eli’s phone pinged next to him, and he glanced at it in shock. 12 thousand  _ fucking _ euros, directly deposited by an anonymous routing number.

 

“That good enough? Say anything more and I’ll take every penny and the rest of your meager balance. Now get up, we have a German to kill,”

 

Eli mimicked zipping his mouth shut, waggling his brows, but got his guns and clips together for their joint assassination. 


End file.
